Wings Don't Make an Angel
by GhostAmongAngels
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is not a consulting detective. Instead he's just been offered a deal as a criminal informant for Greg Lestrade's division. But his handler John Watson is less than pleased and in fact a bit scared by Sherlock because he can tell, Sherlock Holmes has something sinister up his sleeve. All characters and locales belong to Steven Moffat, no infringement intended.


Chapter 1: Let's Play Murder

"You're not going to like him, nobody does. Any secretes you think you have, he knows." Greg sat beside me in the car. He drove as though he were calm but when his hand moved from the wheel I saw it tremor. Greg Lestrade was the best Detective and the best man I ever knew, whoever made him scared was not someone I was keen on meeting.

"So… why are we going to him for help then?" I watched out the window at the familiar streets of London.

"Because we need a man who thinks like a criminal to help us catch the bigger fish." Greg sighed, it wasn't in his nature to ask for help.

"We can solve it without him." I insisted.

"John we've been at a dead end for weeks and the time table says Molly will have another body on her table by tomorrow night unless we do something." He pulled up to the first of many gates and showed his badge. We were waved through. Then came the second gate which we were also waved through. Finally the parking lot before we had to walk through one more outer gate before even entering the building. After that there were too many doors to unlock and bars to slide open that I lost count.

"How do we know he'll help us?"

"Sherlock Holmes is not a great man to be around, he's not even a good one. But one thing I know about him is that he always has plans ready. So we give him a way to get out of his cell and he'll jump on it. He may be a genius and a master criminal but not even he could manage to get out of this prison."

"So we're going to let him out and just hope he stays with us?" I followed his steps past rows of cells where the inmates stared at us. Greg sighed again, he'd done that a lot today. He looked me in the eye and shrugged.

"Yes… it's my best shot right now." The final doors slid open and we were left with only one row of bars between us and the man himself.

Sherlock Holmes had moved his bed to the back wall and was seated on it, legs spread, elbows resting on kneecaps and head down. His hair was rather long, it draped below his shoulders and the curls made my eyes spin.

"Mr. Holmes." Greg boomed, a bit too loud for such a small area. The man lifted his head to look directly at Greg. His smile was lopsided and far too toothy for my liking.

"Lestrade." He hissed. It sounded sinister, as though on the surface he was trying to appear nonchalant while beneath he was seething.

"How's prison life treating you?" Greg stuffed his hands in his pockets but didn't break eye contact.

"Oh fine." He elongated the 'i' as though he were lying. He dropped his feet from the bed to the ground and leveraged himself up using his knees. He stretched, cracking his back and neck before strolling to stand before Greg. He put his hands up to grip the bars on either side of his face. If you ignored those eyes and his intimidating height you might find him to look innocent.

"You didn't come here to be my plaything did you?" He licked his lips.

"No Mr. Holmes. I have an offer for you." Greg finally broke eye contact to look down. When he raised his head again Mr. Holmes' eyebrows were raised.

"An offer? Do go on, I'm certainly… intrigued by what you have to say."

"You come work for us. No pay, tracking anklet, limited radius where you are allowed to go etcetera but you get out of this cell." He pulled the papers from his jacket pocket and held them up in front of the man. Mr. Holmes didn't reach for them and his eyes only gave them a cursory glance. The papers were then put back in Greg's pocket.

"Consulting criminal. How romantic. And yet the only bonus I'm seeing is a change of scenery. Honestly Lestrade, you think a better view will make me be your lap dog?" his chuckle was dark and much more menacing than any laugh should be.

"Actually I do. I know about your network Sherlock. All your friends out there who would just love to see you walk the streets again. Except they can't get to you in here, and you can't reach them either. No letters, no calls, not even a computer. You've been bumped back to the middle ages and I think you really would like a room with a better view." Greg's confidence seemed to have returned. Mr. Holmes kept staring at Greg's face. Then he looked at me. I didn't trust his eyes. The way they slid all too fluidly from Greg's, down along his shoulder and across to my own rapidly blinking stare made my skin crawl. Everything about this man made me wish I was in a different line of work. He moved slowly along the edge of his cell to stand before me. His hands once again gripped the bars and he stooped, degradingly, to be eye level with me.

"And who are you?" he inquired. His voice wass cigarette smoke curling into my ears with its sultry tone. I shook myself and stood straighter before answering.

"Watson." I replied, thankful for my even voice.

"He'll be your handler should you accept." Greg explained.

"You brought an Army Veteran to look after me? How thoughtful but what may I ask is for dessert?" he winked at me. Greg gave me a look and I then understood what he had meant about Mr. Holmes being perceptive.

"So." Sherlock continued. "When do we start?"


End file.
